


Leaking

by curiumKingyo



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Gore, Gunkink, M/M, Monster!AU, Russian Roulette, Southern Comfort AU, bloody blowjobs, sinful af, sort of? why do you make this so difficult to understand?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The leaking pipe on the main room is driving Bryan insane, hopefully Matt the handyman will help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ocktorok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocktorok/gifts).



Bryan's sleeves are neatly rolled up to the crook of his elbows, a faint smudge of black stains one of them. He needs his hands completely free for the delicate work in front of him. His eyes travel across the neatly placed pieces and parts laid in a pristine white cloth over the table, a soft fine brush and a bottle of oil rest near his elbow. 

The afternoon is warm and still, the breeze flutters the curtains gently and brings the sweet smell of wild flowers. If Bryan stretches his neck a bit he can see the dark green leaves dotted with white and purple flowers that cover most of the terrain behind the old house. With just the tilt of his face he could appreciate the lazy swaying of blossoms and the tiny bees and other insects buzzing aimlessly around. 

And yet he doesn't. Not only is he too focused on his task but also he is diligently trying to ignore the unbearable noise of the dripping pipe just across the room. 

The slow drip-drip makes him nervous and anxious; as if it is the countdown to some ominous happening. Good thing the handyman is already on his way. 

He brushes the tiny particles of gunpowder and metal from a few more pieces of his Colt before laying the brush down to rub his temples. His fingertips come away slightly tinted black. Taking a few deep breaths he manages to regain control for long enough to finish cleaning all the necessary parts. His disassembled gun laying shiny and pure in front of him. 

 _It looks like a dissection_ , he thinks. Every piece like a little organ in a metallic body, each with its importance and function. He wonders whether he could have been a doctor or not. Would he be able to keep his cool with hands covered in blood? A person's living heart just beneath his fingertips, needles and scalpels so sharp they could cut cleanly into several layers of tissue? A shudder runs down his spine. 

As if on cue a knock on the door breaks him from his reverie. When he stands up a bead of sweat rolls down his neck and soaks into the open collar of his shirt. 

"I'm Matt, the handyman," the man says in lieu of greeting. Bryan measures him head to toe: his trousers are worn out, the black faded to grey, but his boots are shiny and new. A tool belt hangs too low on his narrow hips, his chest wrapped in a shirt too small for him, buttons strangled and barely holding together. A soft cap hold his dark hair away from his exquisite face. 

"Pleased to have you here, Matt," Bryan greets, all smiles and a warm hand to Matt's oddly cold exposed forearm.  

"Where is the problem?" Matt asks, standing a little bit too close. Bryan has to look up to meet his eyes. Enticing. 

"On the main room, let me show the way," Bryan tells politely closing the door behind them. 

Matt's steps are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards, a contrast to Bryan's clicking shoe soles. Bryan guides Matt down the corridors and into the main room where his gun still sits half assembled over the now stained tablecloth. The dripping sound already hitting their ears. 

"This is the pipe, Mr...?" 

"Matt." 

"Right. Matt, this is the faulty pipe," Bryan points the rusty thing running from kitchen to bathroom. The plaster on the wall is already ruined, exposing the metal rebar like a taut tendon in an open wound. "As you can see, I waited a little too long to call for help. I hope you're still able to fix it?" 

"That won't be a problem," Matt says with confidence, hands touching his leather tool belt absentmindedly. 

"I'll be over there finishing some things," informs Bryan, turning on his heels. "Please let me know if you need anything." 

Matt doesn't respond, coming closer to the wall to inspect the leaking. He works in silence for a while mostly assessing the damage the water had already caused to the wall. Once he finishes his evaluation he picks one of the table chairs and brings it closer to the affected area. Bryan looks for a while as he moves the piece of furniture around, his too broad shoulders rolling under the too tight shirt. Unconsciously Bryan licks his lips. 

For a while Matt just measures things and takes notes and looks at the tools on his belt as if it was the first time he was seeing them. Bryan eventually loses interest, focusing back on his gun. The white noise of Matt working – the rustling of his clothes, his breath and occasional tsks and groans, the floorboards creaking under his weight, lulls Bryan into a state of deep concentration. His hands move fluidly as he delicately covers each new piece in clear oil. 

Bryan finishes assembling his gun and loads his last bullet in silence. He is carefully cleaning it of oil or black stains when he hears Matt cursing and the bang of a huge chunk of plaster falling from the wall. He looks up startled and sees Matt cradling a bloodied hand against his chest, dust smudged on the bridge of his long nose and peppered over his hidden black curls. 

"Are you okay?" Bryan asks, already moving closer. Matt tries to conceal his hand but there is a telling blood stain over his chest, he seems to blush when Bryan forcefully takes his hand for a closer inspection. 

"It is nothing," murmurs Matt, ruefully allowing Bryan to examine the long but shallow cut on his palm. "It will close in no time." 

"It doesn't seem serious but one can never be too careful, right?" Bryan prompts, feeling the warm blood slowly trickle into his palm as he cradles Matt's hand. "Sit by the table, I'll get some disinfectant." 

Matt doesn't move instantly and Bryan has to bodily push him towards the chair he's just emptied. He fetches the first aid kit quickly and finds Matt poking at his wound when he comes back into the room. The handyman's nails look longer and sharper for a moment, blood collecting underneath them and painting them black. "You shouldn't be playing with this," Bryan admonishes. 

"I told you, it is nothing," Matt retorts but pulls his other hand away, not so discreetly cleaning his fingers on the tablecloth. Bryan raises an eyebrow but says nothing. 

"You should be more careful," he says distractedly as he searches for the gauze and iodine. He squeezes the bottle over the wound, coating it with the deep red liquid that merges beautifully with the blood already there. Matt hisses. 

Bryan spreads the product across Matt's palm and removes the excess on the gauze. The cleaned wound bisects Matt's hand almost perfectly, the edge is tinted orange by the iodine but the inside is still rosy and wet. Bryan looks at the first aid kit and sees the black thread and curved needle resting inside a small glass bottle full of alcohol. 

"You'll need stitches," he announces with severity. Matt's fingers curl and he tries to pull his wrist free but Bryan's grip is stronger than he admits. "Stop fussing, it will make the wound worse." 

With a suffering sigh Matt nods and holds his hand up. Bryan smiles smugly as he retrieves the thread and needle and prepares for the impromptu operation. His heart is beating fast, he feels euphoric watching the wound flex and shift with every tiny movement of Matt's hand and arm. It seems like it is talking to him. What would it be saying? He can't tell. 

He sucks his bottom lip in concentration, hands steady as they ever are. The first stitch is mostly a test. He doesn't have pliers so he has to push the curved needle through Matt's thick skin with his own fingers. The needle falters between one edge of the cut and the other, resulting in a crooked stitch that he decides to discard. He feels the thread running inside Matt's flesh. He shivers slightly. 

Matt does too. 

Bryan takes a step closer, standing between Matt's spread legs. He takes the offered hand in his own and tightly pinches the wound close before pushing the needle again. It spears the cold skin easily, peeking at the other side of the cut neatly this time. With a smile he ties the stitch and cuts the remaining thread. 

The second stitch comes even neater, and the third is fast and clean. By the fourth the needle seems to be getting dull so he has to use some more force to push it through the gash. He is tying it when he hears Matt moaning very softly, face hidden on his shoulder. Bryan smirks and tugs the thread, pulling on the skin and causing another moan to fall from Matt's lips. 

Getting the fifth stitch is hard, specially with Matt scotting closer and closer until the brim of his cap is pressed against Bryan's hip. His breath is coming in small puffs that warm Bryan's leg, and his lips are red from being bitten and sucked. Bryan finishes the sixth stitch and tugs the thread until it rips off the skin opening it a little more. Matt groans and presses his face more firmly against Bryan's side. 

"If you don't behave I'll think you did this on purpose," Bryan tuts and knocks the cap off Matt's head. His black hair fall in messy waves as he looks up at Bryan with glossy dark eyes. 

Bryan studies him attentively. His face is flushed and his lips are worried red and puffy; his eyes are shining and flickering between Bryan's face, his iodine and blood stained hands, and the tent slowly forming on his trousers. With a smirk Bryan juts his hips forward a little and the expression on Matt's face is half suffering, half delight. 

"You are an odd one, Matt," he says pensively cutting the ruined stitch and starting anew. "But you somehow fixed my pipe so if you let me finish this quietly I may reward you later," Bryan doesn't see it but he clearly hears the other man swallowing dry and loud. 

The cut really needs about seven stitches but Bryan enjoys the small moans and whimpers from Matt too much so he ends up making ten. Matt's hand is stiff and his entire palm is dotted with the unelegant ties. When he flexes his fingers the skin pulls and shifts, some of the stitches seem about to rip but hold in the end. 

The needle makes a soft clink when Bryan tosses it into the first aid kit. He drips some more iodine on the closed wound and finally puts the whole box away, rubbing his neck to relax the muscles there a bit. When he looks down Matt's eyes are glued to him, big and dark and hopeful, following Bryan's every move. He smiles tenderly and cups Matt's cheek with an iodine stained hand. "I think you deserve some reward after all." 

Matt nods fervently, his mouth opening on its own accord, tongue shyly trying to reach for Bryan's thumb. With an airy laugh he slips his finger inside Matt's velvety mouth. The dark fan of Matt's eyelashes flutter closed as he moans around Bryan's digit. The sight makes blood run south and fill Bryan's already half interested cock. 

Bryan's thumb presses down on Matt's tongue and hold firmly for a while, the other man's attempts at swallowing makes his throat work beautifully like that. Slowly he releases the tongue and explores the bottom teeth before turning his wrist and pressing against Matt's palate. For someone with such cold skin, the wet interior of Matt's mouth is hot and surprisingly soft. 

The handyman is panting pitifully, red staining his cheeks and ears, spit already running down the corner of his plump lips. When he dares to come a little closer Bryan forces his jaw open, his thumbnail digging painfully on the soft flesh beneath his tongue. Matt whimpers and brings his hands to press and knead his erection. Bryan can't have this... 

Quickly, the older man retrieves his gun cocking it and forcing it into Matt's wide opened mouth. The handyman's eyelashes flutter when the barrel presses down on his tongue, making him gag. "Now, I didn't allow you to touch yourself, did I?" Bryan questions in a light tone that is the complete opposite of his rough gestures. Matt looks up at him with watery eyes but does nothing. 

Bryan's lips curl into an unpleased sneer and he pulls the trigger. 

The sound of the hammer hitting the empty cylinder echoes around them. Matt curls inwardly and a tear rolls down his face, his lip tremble, teeth clack against the metal. "Did I allow you to touch yourself?" Bryan asks once again and this time the other man shakes his head, eyes full of dark desire. "Good. Hands on my hips," he orders and Matt complies immediately. 

Bryan keeps sliding his gun in and out of Matt's mouth, the noise is wet and dirty occasionally broken by the clink of metal against teeth. Matt isn't just a passive end to Bryan's game there, he sucks on the barrel like it had been his dream for ages. His tongue curls around the oiled metal and his lips purse against the tip when Bryan pulls the Colt a bit too far. Watching him is such a delight. 

It doesn't take too long for Bryan to feel uncomfortable on his sharply ironed trousers, his erection growing with every one of Matt's tiny moans. He pulls the hammer once again, cocking the gun a second time. Matt looks up, apprehensive and hopeful. "Use your hands on me," comes the order. 

Matt's eyes don't leave Bryan's as he ungracefully opens the shorter man's belt and trousers. He fumbles a little and winces when the movement pulls on the fresh stitches on his palm. Bryan's cock is hard and heavy, dark red in color and wet at the tip. Matt wraps one hand around the base and uses the other to tease the tight balls just below. 

Bryan's whole body shiver, his skin rising in goosebumps even in the warm weather. The stitches catch on the sensitive skin of his cock, not enough to hurt but definitely impossible to ignore. Bryan's free hand moves to Matt's messy black hair, just feeling the thickness of those dark strands. When short nails rake forcefully against Matt's scalp he shudders, hands going completely immobile on Bryan's body. 

 _It is as if he does on purpose_ , Bryan thinks to himself as he pulls the trigger once again. The dry sound of another empty flute on the cylinder makes Matt gasp on the barrel, his whole body shuddering as his shaky hands start pleasuring Bryan again. "Don't slack, boy," Bryan warns with a forceful tug to the hair between his fingers. 

Matt takes the advice to heart and the slick sound of his hands working on Bryan's cock cover the low click of the hammer being pulled to position once more. Bryan is used to his gun. When he cocks it the weight on the hammer is different, the rotation of the cylinder is very particular and he knows where his last bullet is. 

"You look gorgeous like this," he taunts, "your lips were make to take my gun. I can feel it sliding, in and out, so smooth I bet I could do it for hours and you wouldn’t even get sore." Matt shakes visibly, he squeezes his eyes shut and tiny tears cling to his eyelashes for a moment before sliding down his face. "Would you like it, Matt? To have my gun down your throat for hours, my cock in your hands until I come all over your face..." 

Matt's spine arch sharply and he gags on the gun, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Bryan looks down at the unmistakable wet spot forming on the crotch of his pants. The older man tsks softly and presses the gun firmly against the inside of Matt's cheek. The skin pulls tightly over the barrel, shallow over the hollow part and jutting over the front sight. Bryan's finger trembles on the trigger. 

At the last moment he jams the gun down, catching between Matt's molars and the tender spot behind his gums. This time the shot echoes loud and long, deafening in the still afternoon. 

When the ringing on his ears die, a new dripping sound assault Bryan's ears. Matt's eyes are rolled up in the most pained and delighted expression Bryan could imagine. His whole face is sprayed red, the blood mixing with the tears and running pink rivulets down his cheeks. Or, actually, cheek. 

There is a red, gaping hole where Matt's left cheek used to be. His jaw is unhinged, the impact of the shot taking a good portion of his teeth away from their place. A precursory glance on the room finds several shards of white teeth covered in the thick red of blood and skin. The gun barrel shines, silver and maroon amidst the bloody destruction. 

Bryan tilts the gun slightly and it pokes through the still smoking hole. The edges of the wound are burnt black because of the explosion and blood pours down Matt's neck, soaks his shirt thoroughly, drips on the floor in an unsteady rhythm. A good portion of Matt's tongue has been torn off but whatever remained moved spasmodically, reaching the hot and fuming barrel as eagerly as it could.  

The blood pouring from Matt's half destroyed face covers his hands where he pumps Bryan's cock enthusiastically. Their clothes are beyond salvation but Bryan can't possibly care for trousers and shirts when his cock is covered in warm, thick blood, and the air is equally as warm and full of the coppery scent. 

He places his gun back on the table, ruining the once white cloth. Matt whines at the loss but quickly the barrel is replaced by Bryan's hot, blood slick cock and the handyman gurgles on blood and saliva. 

To say the blowjob is messy is an understatement. Bryan's hands are covered in blood, and Matt's hair is slick with sweat making it hard to get a decent grip. Matt's head bobs erratically, his body too full of adrenaline and too fired up to care for rhythm or rhyme; he just gasps around Bryan's cock doing his best to swallow – which is neigh impossible without a cheek to create pressure. But he tries hard, rubbing the stub of his tongue on the vein underneath Bryan's cock and relaxing his throat as much as he could without choking on his own blood. 

Bryan slides his hands down Matt's dirty hair and grip his ears firmly. The handyman groans but allows it as Bryan uses the grip to hold his head in place and start to actually fuck his blown mouth. 

Matt's mouth and throat are hot and ridiculously slick. A mix of blood, saliva and gun oil coats Bryan's cock and slides down the handyman's face and lips, making squelching sounds and gagging him with every other thrust. His lips purse as best as they can and the remaining piece of his tongue keeps rubbing and teasing along Bryan's erection. 

With gritted teeth Bryan approaches his own high. His hips stutter and his cock glides on the messy inside of Matt's mouth and pokes through his blown cheek. A sharp shard of broken tooth catches the underside of Bryan's erection and breaks the sensitive skin. Bryan gasps. The spark of pain ignites his orgasm and his body tenses and shivers as he comes, most of it landing on the side of Matt's face but some sliding into the bloody hole on his face and covering whatever's left of his tongue. 

Bryan's knees falter and he takes unsteady steps backwards until he collapses on the chair Matt had been using to fix the pipe. Breathing is hard, aftershocks still thrumming under his skin as he watches Matt's slumped body on the other side of the room. The blood that had been pouring from his wound had tapered to a drip; his chest is heaving with difficulty and Bryan may be mistaken but the come stain in his trousers look a lot bigger now than it had before. 

Their labored breath is the only sound on the room for a while, even the birds and bugs outside seemed to have quieted down. Then it started. A slow dripping sound just behind Bryan, and when he looks up he sees the pipe leaking once again. He frowns. "I hope you're not expecting payment for this," he says humourlessly. He will never be sure if the gurgling sound coming from Matt's throat is an answer or a laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a nosey bitch who likes to get their hands on other people's shiny toys so, I had [sinfullucifer](http://sinfullucifer.tumblr.com/) and [ocktorok](http://ocktorok.tumblr.com/)'s permission to play with their [Southern Comfort AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5777599/chapters/13315243). If this story seems too weird/gory/nonsense for you it is probably because you are still unfamiliar with this den of sin and I can't suggest you go read Sarah's stuff and see Jane's artwork hard enough. I could shove their blogs on you face and it still wouldn't express how much I encourage you to look their content.


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